you could be the end of me
by pariswindspeed
Summary: At night, when she's trying to sleep, it happens. damon/caroline.


Title from I Don't Want To Be A Bride by Vanessa Carlton.

Other songs used: Marry Me by Train and All We Are by Matt Nathanson.

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><p><strong>you could be the end of me.<strong>

_You wear white and I wear out the words I love you and you're beautiful._

He looks at her as she stands near the window, the quiet breeze blowing strands of her hair around her face, and he thinks about walking to her just to kiss her slender neck, her silky skin touching his lips, the fire it would release. He doesn't move though, just takes her in; lets her figure burn into his memory, her soft sighs rest somewhere deep in him, her too soft skin and too bright lips play with his mind when he finds himself somewhere without her. He stares at her as she stares out the window at the stars above her head. She doesn't notice him staring at her, he knows, because if she did she'd turn to him and laughingly tell him to stop. She'd do it because she can't handle the way he looks at her, she tells him. He tells her he can't help himself. And he can't.

He sighs, catching her attention. She pulls her gaze away from the stars and looks to him, a slight smile on her lips, a gleam in her eyes that he hasn't seen in a while. "What is it?" She asks him as she slowly makes her way to where he's sitting on the edge of the bed.

He shakes his head slowly, little stars of amazement in his eyes as he looks up at her, speaks softly, "Nothing." She bows her head a little, lets the smile creep a little wider on her face at his answer, 'cause it _is _something.

She steps in front of him, between his open legs, and takes his hands. She laces them together, pulls them to the space in between them, midway in the air. She looks at his hands, his fingers, her hands, her fingers, a big mess of not really caring where he stops and she begins. The smile comes back on her lips, settles itself on her face, looks just right.

He pulls her to him then, when she's busy thinking about the night, catching her off guard. He pulls her flush against him, falling back onto the bed, her laying on top of him, her dress gathering around them and still pooling on the floor where her feet hang but don't touch. (His do though, and she thinks that says something about them. He stands ground, anchors himself there, catching her when she doesn't quite land.)

She lets out a small gasp before laughing, resting her head against his. He smiles back at her, kisses her right on the mouth when she eases her gaze up to his eyes. "You're so beautiful." When he says it she lowers her head to rest in the crook of his neck, nuzzles it there for a beat. "You _really_ _are_." He whispers in her ear.

He feels her sigh against the skin of his neck, feels the heat under her lips as she moves them to talk. He doesn't listen to her though, is busy relishing in the feelings running from the top of his head to the tip of his toes.

She leans up, grabs the untied bow tie laying under the collar of his shirt, fumbles it around in her fingers, then looks at him. "You think so?"

He smiles, "I _know_ so." She kisses the tip of his nose, his cheek, the spot just under his ear that makes him groan a little, his jawline, his lips. She kisses him hard on the lips and when he can't take it anymore, he slides his hands to the back of her dress, fumbles with the lace and beading, tries to find a zipper, anything to get her out of it. He groans in frustration, doesn't like not knowing her body easily without having to look. She laughs against his lips and pulls away, pushes herself up off the bed, stands between his legs.

"It's a wedding dress. You have to untie it in the back." She smirks a little at the look on his face, the one that says _it's far too much trouble_ and _you should have taken it off as soon as you got in the hotel room because you had to have known this is where we would end up._

She ignores the look he gives her, turns around and looks over her shoulder expectantly, waiting for him to stand and untie the ribbon. She smirks a little when she hears him stand with a huff and and bites her bottom lip when she sees him fix the front of his dress pants. It makes her a little breathless when she looks up his body, traces over his half-unbutton dress shirt, to find his own smirk settled on his lips and a darkness in his eyes that resembles something that must be lust for the moment.

She quickly turns back around, and waits as his fingertips brush against her skin as he slowly and (tortuously) pulls at the ribbon. She wants it just as badly as he does and he's taking his sweet time and it makes her smiles because it's just _so_ like him to do that. He's always been like that; determined, stubborn, pushing until the last minute when he can't handle it any longer, when he knows she can't, always having some type of control. And she's always liked that about him, loved him for it too.

She's pulled away from her thoughts by the feel of his tongue tracing small circles on her neck, followed by soft kisses, and barely there breaths falling over her collar bone. She still feels his hands busy at the ribbon, but is distracted completely by the fire she feels on her skin after he removes his mouth from her shoulder.

Her dress feels loose against her back, then suddenly falls to the floor, pooling around her feet. She turns her head to give him just enough room to nip at the skin just below her jaw. "Caroline." He breathes out. His arms, that he has snaked around her waist, turn her in his arms. She catches herself against him, hands against his hard chest, mouth slightly opened, head filling with the smell his cologne, and his dark eyes boring into hers.

She can feel him hard against her, his hands moving in slow movements at her hips, rubbing at the silk of her panties. She can feel him wanting her and she can't even remember a day when she hasn't wanted him back. There hasn't been a day, she reminds herself. (Never will be a day.)

She takes his face in her hands and kisses him hard. She hopes it says something like _I want you too_. Because she does.

His hands move up her body, stop at her sides for a minute to feel her soft skin, then continue. He holds her head in one hand at the back of her neck, his other hand falling to her cheek. His touch is the softest she's ever felt from him. And she wonders if it's just symbolic of the day or if he's going to be like this for the rest of their forever. She wonders if his touches are going to be silky smooth against her skin, his breath will hit her on the neck right where she wants to feel it, his arms will snake around her body, hold her close like he can't think of ever letting her go. She wonders if this is her forever with him because – admittedly, rough, calloused hands and smooth lips have always been something she loved about him – she thinks she'll be able to get used to smooth kisses instead of just lips, yearning for more, more, more and _Caroline _like she's always hoped he'd say it.

He lets her undo the rest of the buttons on his shirt then push it off of his shoulders, her hands patient and calm as she does so. He lays her back onto the bed, holding himself above her. He looks into her eyes, sees himself reflecting back, and he'd think it was so ridiculous and cliché if he weren't so absolutely intoxicated by her.

Somehow, his pants are already off. And if she really put enough thought into it she'd wonder how that happened, but she doesn't _care._ Because she's here and he's here in all of his glory and she's got a love for him that just won't stop.

And she doesn't want it to. God, not for a minute.

He makes love to her and she's so sure she could do that for_ever._ She tells him that when they're done, laying under the sheet, her close to him, his fingertips massaging her scalp the way she's always liked it. He laughs lazily, kisses her temple where she has a little sweat gathering, and thinks that yeah, they could do that forever, they will do that forever.

The hand that was massaging her scalp is now draped around her shoulder, pulling her closer to his chest. She grabs it and holds onto his fingers, playing with them, kissing each one by one. "Thanks for being my husband." Her voice gets soft when she says it and she sounds a lot younger than she should be, lost somewhere in a fairytale ending she never thought she'd get. It's cute and it's _her. _And he could never, ever deny that he loves it. Or everything about her.

"Thanks for saying yes." He squeezes her hand.

It's all starry eyed girl and dream boat boy and she never thought she'd be anything more than a second place trophy you hide because being number one was always _best. _"I love you, Caroline." And it's so breathy and sweet and god, she loves him too.

–;

She wakes up screaming.

_(and in the end, dreams just scatter and fall like rain.)_


End file.
